Enslaved
by TB's LMC
Summary: She knew him once. Perhaps she will again.


_Summary_: She knew him once. Perhaps she will again.

* * *

><p><strong>Enslaved<strong>

_By LMC_

* * *

><p>Turn around. Bend down. Pick up the mat. Stand up. Turn around. Put the mat back down, just so. Kneel on the mat. Watch him without looking at him. Wait for the nod. Begin to pray the prayer that's ground into my brain. A prayer to him, for all he does and for all he is. This is my life, day after day. Monotonous. Humdrum.<p>

I'm fed plenty to keep me healthy. I have a place to sleep.

I hate it. Why? Because I'm here against my will. One of hundreds who are all here against their will. It's wrong, it's so wrong, and yet there's nothing I can do. If I even attempt escape, I'll be killed or at the very least, punished through means I've heard make you wish you'd been killed instead.

I was taken from a market in Hong Kong one year ago today. Abducted, sold and brought here. I don't even know where here is. I've never been outside the walls of this place. I know only my prayer and my servitude. It's definitely not the life I was born to live. And yet, it's become just that, for I see no hope in sight of it coming to an end.

And so I finish my prayer, I take my mat, I roll it up just right and put it away. And then I feel his hand on my hair. I stiffen and he growls. It's time for him to take me. Again. He has this thing about blonde white girls, and that's what I am.

I wonder if my family has stopped searching for me yet. Probably not, if I know my mother. But I don't hold out any hope of ever seeing them again. Instead, I prepare for the pain this man will bring me. He's my master and I? I'm a broken slave.

I have resigned myself to my fate.

* * *

><p>He's there in my dreams. Every night he's there. I see him so much; he's the way I cope. I remember how he smelled, I remember how he laughed. I remember his music and his smile. His eyes, those eyes that could melt the polar ice caps. I think it was his eyes I loved the most, but then there was his skin, his hair, and just <em>everything<em> about him.

It's gotten to the point where, in my mind, our relationship never ended. He never left me without really telling me why. His are the arms my heart sought for comfort when I first came to my master's palace. His was the voice I imagined soothing me with words of love. His is the bed I imagine myself to be in every time my master rapes me.

Without the love of my life, I had moved on; I had taken the job in Hong Kong and had gotten to a point where my former love wasn't on my mind every moment of every day. I had even started flirting with other men again.

But then this all happened, and I found the place I needed to retreat to. The place I felt the safest - where I knew I would never come to harm - was with him. And so for a year we've been together again in my mind, and it's the most wonderful thing that's ever happened to me.

Yes, I know it's only a fantasy.

I wonder what he's doing now. I wonder if he's curious about where I am and what I'm doing. Boy, wouldn't he be surprised? I used to be a slave to our love. Now I really _am_ a slave. And there _is_ no love. Nowhere but inside my heart. I'll never see him again, and I wouldn't want him seeing me this way anyway.

Maybe it's all for the best. Still, I have fantasized about him coming to save me. I've imagined it so many times, him swooping in to carry me away from this place. I'm so happy to see him, so happy and surprised, that I can't even speak. But he whispers words of love, and comfort, and safety to me, and it makes me whole.

Lying here in the dark silence of the room, hearing only the soft breaths of the eleven other girls who share this cell with me, all I can see is his eyes.

All I can think of is Virgil.

* * *

><p>We're all so frightened. Most of the girls are cowering. There are five of us who are trembling, but not too scared to peek out of our cell, to try and see what's happening. There's gunfire, there even sounds like something bigger out there. Tanks, maybe, big artillery. Is our master's palace under attack? If so, why?<p>

We know nothing about him, only that he is cruel and unforgiving when you don't obey. Those of us left have learned to do so without question, but now? He is nowhere to be seen. No one is coming after us. No one is looking for us, or asking hey, where are the slave girls?

Nobody. We're on our own.

Quickly I gather the other four who are marginally braver than the rest of them. We've never actually spoken above a whisper to each other before. Every word was a 'yes' or 'no' to our master, also in whispers. My unused speaking voice cracks and breaks when I try to speak, but I swallow and try again. There, at least it's louder.

"We're getting out of here," I say. "Each of you take two girls with you. I'll take three."

My four 'sisters,' as I've come to think of them, nod their understanding and pair off the frightened ones, hands clasped tightly together. I take the lead because really, if there's a chance we can get out of here, I want to be leading the charge. I had almost forgotten what it's like to be in charge of anything.

Freedom. I can feel the thought of it skittering away while I scrabble to hold onto it with every fibre of my being. For the first time in thirteen months, I find a tiny glimmer of hope to hold on to.

The guns don't stop. Automatic weapons. More explosions. Once the palace even seems to shake, which is no small feat as large as it is. I'm not out here in the master's main throne room to kneel or pray or fulfill his sick, twisted desires. Not this time, I think, as I look around.

This time, I'm here to save my sisters. And myself.

We're mostly naked; he prefers us that way. Once I felt shame over the flimsy silks that barely covered my most private areas. But I've gotten used to everything pretty much hanging out on display; we're all dressed the same anyway, just in different colors meant to flatter our eyes.

I'm wearing a deep, rich purple color, while the four sisters helping me with the other, more timid, of us, wear pale blue, dark gold and forest green. Those who have not yet completed training wear white. Those who are currently in training wear red. Those who are fully trained but not yet tested by the master, wear pale pink.

We run, our silks fluttering in the breeze our own bodies create, and I can see a wide, wooden double door on the other side of the Room of Statues, as I've come to call it in my time here. There is the one behind the beaded curtain. I have never seen that one. It's always hidden.

The others are garish and I have spent many hours staring at them. But this time I see only one thing, and it's that double door we're racing toward. There's nobody else around. I see no guards, no scientists, no military men. I don't see the master. Just...nobody.

Halfway across the room, my blood goes cold because all the sounds of fighting stop. The other girls notice, too. As though we were communicating telepathically, our bare feet skid to a halt on the polished, smooth marble floor at the same time.

There's a muffled explosive sound from the double doors and every single one of my sister slaves gathers behind me, some peeking out and some hiding their faces in fear. I take a couple steps forward as the doors begin to move, groaning, opening outward.

The sun that streams in catches me off guard, and I squint into it. I haven't seen the sun in thirteen months because the parts of the palace I've lived in have no windows, and we are _never_ allowed outside. There's a shadow I make out, and then two standing side-by-side.

"There," I hear a voice say, and it's deep and clipped and sounds military.

Military? Are we actually being rescued?

Suddenly gunfire erupts from the opposite direction and I hear more male voices coming from the doorway, shouting at us to get down, get down!

But I'm not moving. I know I should be, but I'm not. Because it's...it's _him_.

No, no, not my master. It's.._him_! And he's saying my name! But it can't be. Everything wants to come out in a rush, it just _can't_ be! I feel someone slam into my body. I hit the marble floor hard and cry out. I'm covered head to toe, completely engulfed in a warm body. And I would know the scent of it anywhere.

I can't speak. I can't move. He doesn't allow me to do either. He's protecting me. He's here. He's here. He's...he's _here_!

The fight stops. The bullets are gone. The guns are silent. There are many male voices now. But the only one I care about is the one I'm praying, silently begging, to hear again. When his head lifts, and he looks directly at me, I can read the play of emotions in his eyes just like I always could.

"Sorry I'm late," he whispers.

He's wearing an International Rescue uniform. I stare. Is that why he left me five years ago? To join International Rescue?

My mind simply can't catch up with the sensory input and I don't trust my voice. All I have is my relief, and that comes out in the form of tears. He's lifting me into his arms, he's telling someone no, he'll be the one to take me to Two, whatever that is, because this one's personal.

Personal.

Maybe he didn't stop loving me after all. Was it possible?

I'm so tired, and I'm so confused, and he's there. _Here_. He has me held tightly in his arms. Maybe this time, he won't be able to let me go.


End file.
